


Darling

by eccentric_kittens



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Aromantic, Aromantic Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Aromantic Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Drinking to Cope, Established Relationship, Family Issues, Fluff, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other, POV First Person, Quasiplatonic, Queerplatonic Alastor, Queerplatonic Relationships, Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), acearo, queerplatonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2020-10-04 17:04:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20474540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eccentric_kittens/pseuds/eccentric_kittens
Summary: Narrator is drinking to cope with the pain of a shitty family and Alastor comes along to comfort themOC/MC is nameless and gender neutral, unless you read certain pet names as traditionally feminine, such as darling, angel, dear etc





	1. Darling~?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I was genuinely having dinner with my family and they were being pretty shitty to me so I started writing a comfort self insert to cope with it and then the narrator became their own OC with their own story and everything and somehow has a pre-established relationship with Alastor lmao. Idk I didn't intend on posting this, since it was purely indulgent, but I figure maybe it could help someone else with a similar struggle <3

"Why the sad face, darling?"

I look up. It's Alastor, not much more a blur of red as he breezes around me. Great. I don't like him coming around when I'm like this. Feels like I'm inconveniencing him. 

"I'm just in a bad mood."

"From being in bad company?" he asks, running a nail along my shoulder. Must have taken his gloves off. Bastard. He knows I like that.

"Yeah," I mutter, remembering the uncomfortable dinner with my family, ending as it always did. 

They were insensitive. I was sensitive. 

"Would you like me to -"

"No," I interrupt, tiredly. "I don't want you to murder them all."

He leans over my shoulder, fingers gripping with a wonderful pressure, and gives me a wounded look.

"I wasn't going to suggest such a thing."

I shoot him back a raised brow and he smiles ever wider.

"You know me too well, dearie. Alright then, would you like me to...cheer you up?"

"You can try," I dare him, arms crossed. "I think I need to drink to be honest."

He's still heavy against my back, hands sliding down my arms.

"Oh, please don't cry. I so hate to see you upset."

He's being genuine now, his smile is even a little down turned. He can see the tears already gathering in my eyes. I close them, knowing having attention drawn to the fact that I'm about to cry just makes me more likely to cry. A sharp nail trails gently down the side of my face.

"Now, now. Don't hide those beautiful eyes away from me. They're so beautiful. It's a shame every second they're hidden from the world."

"Okay that was kinda cheesy," I chuckle, downing the last of my drink.

"Ha ha!" he declares, sliding smoothly onto the stool beside me. "But it made you laugh. Even just a little. And that's my prerogative."

I shake my head and signal the bartender for another drink. "I know you never say yes but I'll ask you again anyway cause it's polite. Would you like a drink, Alastor?"

"I never say yes, that's right, but I'll peruse the menu again anyway because it is polite," he says, a menu sliding into his hand as he spoke.

I watch him leaf through wines and whiskies, noting dates and details. It's a comfortable silence, but then it always it between us. After an ~appropriate~ amount of time, of course, he sets it down and it takes itself back to the menu stand.

"I'm quite fine without a drink, thank you. What are you drinking this evening, anyway? It doesn't look like your usual poison. Feeling adventurous tonight?" he asks, in a way that might have held sexual insinuation if someone else had said it.

"That's cause it's not my usual poison. It's double poison with extra cherries and a lil umbrella. Rather the opposite of adventurous, this is my depression drink," I add glumly, picking out one of the skewered cherries.

He plucks it deftly from my hand. I smile, already knowing what he's about to do. He sucks on the cherry for a moment and then leans in and opens his mouth. The stem's tied in the shape of a heart.

"Y'know you needn't pretend it's possible to actually do that, I know it's magic," I complain, bitter in a playful way. I can't even do a regular knot let alone a heart.

He pokes me. "Absolutely no prestidigitation here, darling. It's perfectly possible for you to do, you simply don't possess the oral skills."

He watches with pleasure as I smile again. He knows I find innuendos particularly funny. Especially puns. God it's a matter of moments before he moves onto the puns. I need a way to distract him otherwise I'll really lose my shit. Laughing is good, but it just makes me repress rather than deal with stuff. And if I don't deal with it soon I'm guaranteed to feel it all twice as much later on at a much more inconvenient time. He can sense this in my shoulders drooping and the sigh not even crawling its way out of my mouth yet.

"After this drink you might call it a night. You might...enjoy a nightcap with me?"

That's our code phrase. God yes. I wade through whiskey clouded thoughts to the code phrase I'm supposed to say back.

"A nightcap would be lovely, thanks."

He grins. I mean he always grins. But this isn't a grin to hide his true thoughts. It's a proper grin. Mirth and madness right there at the surface.

"Right then," he murmurs, tapping the table.

Always adorable when he gets nervous, even just a little. Nice to know that I only I get to see it, too. Precious, in all the ways. He's not a mind reader (God he'd be a smug unbearable git with that) but he can still tell what I just thought.

"Oh behave," he says, nudging me. "Or I'll do my British impression."

That makes me laugh, hard. "Oh god, no, not again. It's literally the worst I've ever heard, please don't do it."

He sighs goodnaturedly. "Fine, fine. But only because you said please."

"That's my line."

I always say that. I have a weakness for begging. He says it back at me sometimes. We mean it in different ways. He has a weakness for good manners. Watch this. 

I down my drink, sighing at the glass hits the table. 

"Alastor," I begin, in that tone he knows means I'm about to ask for something. 

"Yes, darling," he says in that tone that I know means he's about to give me whatever the hell want. 

"Would you take my glass back to the bar, please?" 

He stands over me, takes the glass and leans in. 

"Are you taking advantage of my inability to resist politeness?" 

"Yes," I smile up at him. 

He kisses my forehead. "Wonderful."

That shocks me. "Al... What if someone sees?" 

He nearly snorts. "I think in your drinking session you may have forgotten your surroundings. We're the only ones here. It's 4am after all."

My eyebrows leap and I remind myself to ask the bartender to leave the empty glasses next time so I can keep track of how long I've been here. The encounter with my family must have shook me more than I thought. Seeing my discomfort, he moved faster than my eye could follow and was back immediately, arm out all gentlemanly like.

"A walk to our carriage, Your Grace?"

"Of course," I answer, standing. Another thing I can't resist. Petnames. Especially ones like that. Standing doesn't last for long. As soon as both feet hit the ground I start to wobble and nearly topple over altogether. But he's there of course, before I fall even an inch. 

"I rather think you need some water," he says, with as close to a frown as he gets. 

"There's a 24/7 around the corner," I mumble as we exit the bar.

"No need. There's bottled water in the car."

'The car'. Like Alastor would ever be seen dead or alive in anything close to what the average person would describe as a car.

The seats are leather, red of course, and oh so cool on my cheek when I let myself topple onto them.

"Come on, up, up," Alastor whispers, helping me sit up.

Plastic presses against my lower lip.

"Drink up, dear. You're the one who told me this is how you cure a hangover before-"

"Before it even knocks on the door in the morning," I finish, and then go back to sipping.

The car's moving, I barely noticed. Alastor's driver is used to me by now, otherwise I'd say hello and apologise for the state I'm in. It's not the first time. I'm not an alcoholic yet, but we all know I'd better find a new coping mechanism soon. Interestingly enough, Alastor's been helping me with that. Speaking of, his hand is snapping in front of my eyes.

"- hear me, darling?"

"What's wrong?" I ask, taking his hand out of the air and holding it.

"You were in and out there, for a moment. Have some more water."

He looks worried so I let him give me the rest of the water.

"I'm alright," I say, honestly. The water is already clearing my head a little.

He's not convinced. "There's coffee, tea, whatever you might like inside. You ought to eat something too."

I pull a face. "I think I want some mouthwash and bed for the night."

I can tell he'd prefer me to have something more but he doesn't push it.

His hand curls around my leg. "Almost there. I'm glad we're spending this time together."

I put my hand over his. "Same. I'm always glad."

He takes this opportunity, while I'm still conscious and listening, to ask me a loaded question.

"Do you need to talk about your family? Or would you rather sleep on it til morn?"

I grimace, and for a moment I'm not sure why I want to be sick - the mention of my family or the whiskey making an enemy of my innards.

"I'm just tired of them. Everything they say is... It's like everything they say has the opposite of a silver lining. It's like when people compliment you by insulting something else about you, which is another of their talents, by the way. They'll congratulate me on my latest gig, then slide in a little dig about how they wish I'd pursue a 'real' career. Nothing is ever enough. Every time I see them I've always somehow put weight on or my hair's not right or that new person I'm hanging round with 'seems off'. They'd pitch a fit if they knew I was this close to the famed Radio Demon, that's for sure. You wouldn't be safe either, Al. Your suit would have wrinkles or... I don't know, I'm trying to think of things they'd find wrong with you but you're pretty perfect, you bastard. Knowing my luck they'd bloody agree. I'm never enough."

I must have had more to drink than I thought. I don't get sad-drunk until pretty far in, so I must have burned a hole in my wallet as well as my liver. Alastor's waiting to see if I'm done talking. I stutter sometimes and being polite like he is, he likes to wait an extra moment or two just in case.

He tips my face up to look at him. "It's not possible for me to be perfect, because true perfection only happens once. I happen to think you're exactly enough. Perfectly enough," he adds, smoothly.

I giggle into his shoulder. "You're so cheesy, Al."

He brings out the big guns next. "You don't think I could bree any cheesier?"

That gets me ugly-laughing. "Al, that's terrible. That's a dad joke, like the worst I've ever heard."

"I can do better," he all but threatens, leaning in closer.

I turn away. "Ugh, Al, I've got like - not just whiskey breath but puke breath. You don't wanna be near this. Maybe after I see a toothbrush and some mouthwash, minimum."

A sharp nail pokes my neck gently, trailing up to trace my lips.

"I just want to distract you from those..." he inhales, eyes flickering darkly. "Sorry, darling, all the words I want to call them are far too impolite to be uttered."

I put my head to the side, smiling. "You're not killing them, Alastor."

He, again, gives me that reproachful look, as if he'd never do such a thing. I don't have to tell you, he'd love to do such a thing.

I know he's not a good man. Or I guess a good demon, if there even is such a thing. But nobody here is. This is hell. We're all here because we did something shitty up there. It's not really my place to judge him. If anything cognitive dissonance is easier down here than ever. Morally, I don't agree with what he's done. But when he comes around all smiles and sly comments I can't help but smile back. I've only heard rumours anyway. I haven't asked him what he's done and he hasn't asked me why I'm down here either. He'd probably approve, knowing him and his opinion of my family. Thinking of my family again, I feel another drunk rant climbing up my throat. 

"As much as I dislike them. As much as they've fucked me over and given me permanent mental issues...As much as they've hurt me in every way they can think of like some kinda abuse bingo...the saddest thing is I kinda hope they can change. I kinda hope one day they'll listen to the messages in the movies and songs they love so much. Yknow what I mean? Like there's this film - you won't know it, it's modern - something about a circus or something I don't remember. Anyway the big, main song of the film is all about being yourself and not being afraid and basically fighting the judgement of the whole world. And these fuckers know every single word. Have the album downloaded. Like stored? On their? Phones and stuff? It doesn't matter. They're just hypocrites. They sing along with that song and then in the next breath... Cut me down like it's nothing. The same way the people in that song get cut down. They're the villains in their own movie and they don't even know it. How many layers of irony is that? I guess that makes me the mopy protagonist, huh? What are you, the slick sidekick?"

He nods politely, as usual, as I drunk-rant about whatever I'm saying and then chuckles at that last bit. 

"I rather think I'm more like an omniscient voice of reason, in your story at least. For example. I think you're spending a lot of yourself on waiting for these people to change."

He said people like it was a dirty word this time, one he wouldn't usually say.

"What if they never change? Are you going to stay trapped listening to them forever? How many years will you spend bending to their twisted will before you take control and do what you want? What you love."

"Woah," I slur, a little stunned. "Where the hell did that come from?" 

"I've been concerned for a while, but it wasn't my place to say. I waited until I worried you would never see it yourself. To be polite, you see."

I try to focus my eyes on the carpeting. "I see."

I'm going to speak again. He can tell. Two of his fingers dance on my knee. 

"I suppose you're right. That really is something a voice of reason would say. So what, like I should just yeet them out of my life?"

He looks confused and I'd honestly rather die again than hear him say the word yeet, so I speak again.

"Cut them off? Just like that? Can you do that with family? Anyone can break up with you, unfriend you, slowly drift away. But family's family, yknow? You can always expect a place set for you at Christmas. It's not much but it's home, you know? If I got rid of them... It'd be like being untethered in the world. Cutting the chord. I - I've never done that. It's that unconditional love bullshit, isn't it? I wish I could hate them."

Alastor looks introspective. Maybe he has his only family drama. I think maybe everyone does.

"Perhaps it's what you need. Who's to say, really, darling. I, certainly, am no authority on matters of this kind. What I do know, absolutely, is this is a decision best made soberly."

I nod heavily, almost careening onto the floor. "Yeah, sure. I guess that's my daily dose of logic from the voice of reason. Thanks. Really. I don't talk to anyone about this shit. Thanks."

His mic appears in his hand. "Why you're welcome, sweetheart! Nothing but the responsibility of a gentleman escorting a special somebody home!"

"Awww," I coo, falling against him with the gravity of the car turning. "I'm a special somebody?"

He steadies me, tipping my chin up again with his mic this time.

"Very special."

Anybody else hearing this conversation might mistake it for flirting. I don't know how we got here but it's beautiful. I kinda wish I had this bond with more people but it's nice in its uniqueness. I'd like to playfully steal his mic but it somehow doesn't seem to leave him. Like at all. It's like an extra limb or something. He likes to walk with it. I guess that's part of why it's materialising now - for the walk from the car to the door.

We're almost at his street, just a couple of turns away. I'm glad the heavy conversation is out of the way. I don't like coming home with more sadness to talk about. I guess that's why I kept drinking and drinking. It just wouldn't go away. If Alastor hadn't shown up, I would have spent not just the rest of the night in the there, but well into the next night too. Wouldn't be the first time I'd napped my way to the next happy hour.

Alastor steadies me again. "You're slipping, dearest."

"Dearest," I repeat, letting him wrap an arm around me. "I've never been anyone's dearest. Maybe dear. Just a bit. Not dearest. I think I need more water, Al."

He hands me the bottle and kisses the top of my head. "Dearest," he repeats, his voice little more than a whisper.

I tighten my grip on him a little, afraid if I don't focus on what he smells like, the exact shade of his suit, how the light glints off his eyes, maybe he'll slip away altogether.

We don't speak again until we're already folding open the sheets and climbing in. The time between was mostly spent concentrating on not spilling mouthwash. It's strange to be wearing pyjamas, I usually sleep naked. Even the small layers of shorts and a vest seem like too much fabric.

"Big or little," he asks, hands clasped behind his back expectantly.

I grin. "Big. Always big."

We're spooning, although he isn't particularly fond of that term. He smells great this close, probably much better than I smell. I should've showered.

"Shall we begin?"

I nod. "Ready when you are."

We're touching. It's something we've been doing since the first night we met. We lie together and just let our hands wander, giving pressure and rubbing in circles. Back, shoulder, neck, sides, over and over. It's not weird. It never is with Alastor. We usually do this til we fall asleep. It's nice. Mutually. He's learning that it's possible to have emotional and physical intimacy without romance or sexuality and I'm unlearning years of abuse-induced aversion to physical touch. It's a neat little system. 

He's old school, been in hell for a while now, but I just got here recently. There's so much he doesn't know about. It's tempting to sit him down and just tell him all the exciting, wonderful things happening for people like us in the modern world. But there's something just so charming about how set in his time he is. I don't want to ruin that. It'd be like exposing an oil painting to bright light. I like hearing corny American phrases. Watching him slow blink in confusion when I speak in my 'new fangled lingo'. Letting him show me silent movies and teaching me old style dances. It's precious to me. Besides, if Alastor wanted to catch up with the human world he would. He's eccentric by choice. It's the way uh huh uh huh he likes it. So when I make a reference he misses or talk about an event he hasn't seen, we just glide right past it.

"Sobering up yet?" he whispers, his nails making a home at the small of my back. I've turned around to face him now. 

I sigh into his chest. "Yeah. Thanks. Thanks for finding me there. I needed it."

"You're quite welcome."

Another forehead kiss. His favourite. Mine too, when he was the one giving them.

"You're getting better at that," I whisper, reminiscing. "The first few were...wet. And not in a good way."

He laughs quietly, a deep sound with my ear pressed against his chest.

"Well I'm sorry, my dear, I hadn't kissed many foreheads before yours and they didn't exactly leave a review in the paper to let me know I was a bad kisser."

I pull his chin down so I can kiss his nose. "I didn't say you were a bad kisser. Just inexperienced. Besides you don't have any problems with it now."

"Far from it," he murmurs and kisses my lips.

It's chaste, they all are. It took him a while to start doing that. I guess because of pop culture and stuff he still saw lip kisses as a romantic thing. I didn't push it. But he did come around eventually. I think it was when I pointed out the lip kisses between parent and child are far from romantic that he wanted to try it. Personally, I'd go as far as to say licking someone is entirely platonic - animals do it all the time. It's nice to groom someone and have that intimacy. But I know he wouldn't like that - saliva. 

"I'm still not used to that," he adds, his smile soft. "The sound...it's peculiar."

I understand. He's repulsed. Not by me. By certain physical and emotional things. He hasn't explained why, I don't expect him to. And after all there isn't always a reason; sometimes you are who you are. And I like who he is, whether I understand or not. I usually let him initiate lip kisses for this very reason. 

I feel around under all that cherry red hair for his ears and run my fingers over them. They're sensitive, so I don't go crazy, but I know he likes when I scratch a certain spot.

"That's unfair, angel," he almost growls, playful. His ears can be ticklish and we both know if a fight breaks out I'll lose almost immediately. I mean, I'm generally not very ticklish but his nails are a force of nature that somehow ignite my skin with every touch.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop," I concede, already feeling his nails dragging over my ribs in threat.

His grin widens. He loves to win. Bastard. I call him that a lot, but he knows I mean it affectionately. You'll know if a British person is really trying to insult you. We tut and sigh and roll our eyes. Swearing is a vocabulary of endearment. I've called my mum "the c word" as he calls it more times than I've called her mum after all. He'd probably be upset though. Like I said, he's got a thing for good manners. If not swearing is good manners, I'm happy to tone it down a little around him. He's still a bastard though.

I can't see him too well in the dark but his smile, as always, is like a bloody neon sign. This is my favourite part of our times together. He starts to drift off, and as he does his face relaxes. He doesn't always stop smiling, not completely. The teeth slowly hide away behind ever relaxing lips. His eyes uncrinkle. He doesn't look sad, far from it. After all these years of fixing his expression, he's got resting smirk face. The lips curl up at the sides ever so slightly. Even his arms, so commonly folded neatly behind his back became awkward, gangly limbs clasping me. My thigh. Wrapped around my shoulder or side. Like he was afraid I'd leave and he'd wake up alone.

As if. Alastor was the best cuddler this side of limbo. Don't tell him that. Smug bastard. I love him. He knows a lot, but I'm not sure he knows that. Maybe I'll tell him someday. Right now I lean forward and kiss his nose.

"Good night, Al."

He can only be on the edge of sleep, because his eye cracks open.

"Good night, darling," he whispers back, and presses his forehead to mine.

More awake than I thought, but it shouldn't really surprise me. After all, he'd never fall asleep without saying 'good night'. He has a thing for good manners, you know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long time lmao I'm sorry. This one focuses more on the reader comforting Al this time :3

I jolt awake, arms flailing and half-legible threats already on my lips.  I sit up properly, fumbling with the sheets to get my hand out and to the knife on my bedside table. I've felt this feeling before; the cold panic of waking suddenly to the sound of an intruder in my room. 

I realise immediately who it likely is, and yet brandish the knife anyway, just in case.

"A - Al? That you?"

A familiar grey face steps forward into the dim light cast by a half-hidden moon. I toss the knife aside and focus on resisting the urge to wrap him in a hug.

Codewords first, always wait for the codeword to touch him. 

"Are there other demons breaking into your room in the dead of night?" he quips. 

I rub my eyes, relaxing now. "Maybe. Who knows. What if I'm running a cuddling business? You could be one of many customers showing up in my room."

He laughs at my joke, but there's something off. He can't quite meet my eyes.

"Al? You look kinda...are you alright?"

"I'm terribly sorry to inconvenience you like this but I was wondering if I might stay the night?" he proposes, hands clasped behind his back.

I nod, excited but holding it back. "Sure. Of course. Any time. It's really not an inconvenience though."

He hasn't said it yet... Maybe this is official business or something. He definitely looks off though.

"I appreciate that. Oh - nightcap?"

I light up. 

"Sure."

Finally. It's tempting to throw myself around him like an octopus but I settle for sliding out of bed and resting a hand on his arm.

"You wanna talk about it? Or is it more of a distraction type visit?"

He gives a soft sort of sigh. Maybe he's not sure. I leave him for a moment to make sure my bedroom door is locked. 

We haven't slipped up yet, but he's hinted that if anyone ever found out about me and what we have then it might have to end. I'm guessing it's for his safety as well as mine, considering how well known he is but I dare to hope we could find some way through it if that did happen. 

It's a little uncomfortable to think about not seeing him anymore. 

I put it out of my mind, focusing on the now. 

"D'you want anything, like a cuppa or - sorry, I tend to instinctively head to the kettle when someone's - uh - sad? Angry? I'm not sure, the smile's throwing me off a bit."

“Just a little...down,” says, softly. 

I bite my lip nervously, frozen between needing to hug him and not knowing whether now’s the time. I've never seen him like this. It's...actually kinda scary.

“I don’t think your pyjamas are dry yet from last time - they’re still hung up. Do you want to borrow some of mine?”

He shrugs his coat off and sends it through the air onto my coat rack. Of course, even in a state like this, he’s still smooth as hell. 

“Alright, forget the jammies for now, just take off the outer stuff and come sit in bed with me. It’s nice and warm under the covers.”

I pull gently at his arm and he follows me, slipping off his shoes as he sits on the edge of the bed. I make quick work of his bowtie, waistcoat, belt and pants. He undoes the buttons of his shirt and wraps it further around himself like a dressing gown. 

I clamber into my side and throw the covers open for him. 

“Come on."

He slips in smoothly, all the way under the covers, leaving only his horns and a couple tufts of hair peeking out against the pillows. 

I stifle some noises of delight and tentatively run my hand over his shoulder. 

He's rigid, but that won't do. 

"You're kinda tense, you want a massage? Hm?" 

"I disturbed your rest - I wouldn't want to inconvenience you further than I already -" 

"I already said, you're not inconveniencing me. Really. Besides, I couldn't sleep right now knowing you're feeling this way. I wanna help."

By way of answer he turns onto his front. We’ve done this a million times but I still try to move slowly, sliding my palm flat across his back to rest on his shoulder. My leg following over to the other side until I’m straddling him. 

Giving over-the-clothes massages has been kinda strange but I’m pretty used to it now. I steady the material of his shirt with my fingers and use my palms and thumbs to do most of the work. 

It’s slow going, especially without oils to smooth along the process but he seems to enjoy it, curling and uncurling his claws in the sheets like a cat. 

For someone whose primary weapon is their skill in speech, he gets awful quiet at times like this. It did worry me for a while, and still does to a degree. If he was uncomfortable, he’d say so. But at the same time, I’m not sure if this is really helping at all. A lightbulb goes on in my head. 

“If, uh - if this isn’t helping, I just had an idea that might fix everything for about five minutes.”

Alastor grins over his shoulder. “Oh?”

\---

“So? What’s the verdict?”

Alastor finishes the last of a crust and sets down his knife and fork. 

“An ingenious idea. I’m pleasantly surprised that you remembered such a small detail. It must have been several months ago now that I mentioned it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not every day that your cuddle buddy confesses to being a fan of pineapple on pizza,” I joke, blushing a little.

“Cuddle buddy?” he echoes, crinkling his nose. 

“Is that one off the table too? Too juvenile?”

Al hums quietly. “I feel that we’re more than...buddies. I apologise. Even after all this time, I haven’t found a term that sits quite right with me.”

“Mmph!” I exclaim around a mouthful off pizza. “That reminds me. I went to a, uh, -” ace-spectrum support group “ - a dinner party with some friends and talk turned to relationships, I saw an opening and I kinda asked about our situation - keeping it all anonymous and hypothetical and everything - and I might have some good options for us.”

“I’d be delighted to hear all about them, but first I’d just like to say how much I love seeing you light up like this.”

I hide behind my sleeve. “Al!”

“It’s a sight to see and a joy to hear, darling,” he goes on, blinking innocently. “Sorry for interrupting, do go on.”

God damn. 

I scrape myself together and somehow continue.

“Uh - so they - they gave me some - some suggestions for what we can call - uh - us. Zucchini.”

His brows knit together a little. “Excuse me?”

“Zucchini. It’s like - okay, I missed out a lot of context. So you know what a crush is, right? Well someone came up with ‘squash’ to mean a romantic feelings only crush and then someone else came up with ‘zucchini’ to mean a platonic attraction. Y’know, cause they’re both vegetables?”

“You’d like me to refer to you as my...zucchini?”

His tone is incredulous but I can see he’s considering it. I mean, it fits in with what we need. 

It’s specific enough that we’d know where stand but vague enough that I can say it in public without having to worry.

Although I might get a few strange looks talking about the great night I had with my zucchini.

“I do have more options,” I offer and he nods politely while I try to find the right page in my notebook. 

“Okay - zucchinis*, nestmates, datemates, datefriends, queerplatonic partners, just partners, uh - soulmates, significant others, companions*, playmates, counterparts, paramours*, quasiplatonic, confidantes, lovers*, sweethearts*, beaus and this one’s kind of a joke but; comrades. I’ve starred the ones I like and thought maybe you do the same and hopefully we’ll finally have a term we like?”

I hand him the notebook, my hands shaking a little. I do want us to find a word we feel at home in, but I’m also hoping this talk might get things out on the table so to speak. 

When all this started I wasn’t sure it would last more than the one night. And then he came back. And again. And again. And here we are now. And I still don’t really know that much about him. 

“It must have been quite the party,” he murmurs, glancing up at me.

I flounder for a moment then find my feet. 

“Uh - yeah, well a lot of the circles I run in know a lot about this kinda thing.”

“I’m quite astonished. So many suggestions. There really are - others? In similar situations?”

Okay. Time to be careful. 

“Well - of course. Romance and stuff is the most normalised kinda relationship but there’s plenty of people who prefer - this. Whatever this is. We’re not alone.”

His smile softens and his eyes fall back to the page. “Hmm.”

He looks so damn tired behind the smile. 

“We don’t have to pick something today, it was just a thought.”

At least he doesn’t seem to be so down anymore. I’ve no idea what got him so upset but I’m happy to be a distraction. God knows he does it for me often enough. 

“I’m rather fond of ‘companions’. But I could warm up to ‘paramours’,” he concludes, handing me the notebook. 

“Companions,” I repeat, physically restraining myself from talking about Doctor Who. “I like it too.”

“You wouldn’t prefer something more…?”

“Al, you could call me anything, I honestly don’t mind as long as we’re together.”

He sighs, sipping his drink. “Thank you, darling. I feel I’ve made things rather complicated, with how I - how I am and -”

Okay, no. 

“I love you.”

His smile collapses into a rare expression of shock. Oops. It’s back again in a second, wider than ever. 

“Oh, you do? I worried that - I mean - I feel the same - I - I love you, too,” he eventually manages. 

Oh, thank god. But - My mind catches up with my mouth. 

“Well - you don’t have to say it back, Al, you know I wouldn’t - I understand what you’ve told me about your preferences and how this all might be temporary because of your work and stuff, I don’t want you to do anything that’s uncomfortable.”

“Loving you is not uncomfortable. Quite the reverse.”

Alright, so now he’s a smooth talker again? 

A minute ago he was stammering and stuttering and now - well, his voice is just altogether unfair, really. I’m not surprised he’s got a magic microphone.

“What a brilliant shade of red,” he murmurs, leaning closer to peer at me. “You’ve gone brighter than my hair. How charming.”

“Psh,” is the sound I make in lieu of words. I’m not the best at handling compliments, as you can see.

He pushes back his chair and within seconds is beside mine, holding out a hand.

“Let’s call it a night, dearest.”

Lights doused, pizza put aside, covers up to our chins, we begin our usual ritual like we would any other night. 

I’m not sure quite how, but a duvet and some pillows become an impenetrable sanctum as soon as we’re in. 

“How do you always smell so good?”

He chuckles softly. “I think it’s a mixture of incense and my natural scent. I’m rather fond of sandalwood.”

“How’s it possible that you naturally smell like cherries? You’re - it’s actually irritating how effortlessly attractive you are. I bet you don’t even do anything to your hair, you lucky git. I bet it just naturally falls like that.”

Al smirks coyly. “Perhaps. I think you look rather lovely yourself. Especially your smile…There it is! My favourite smile in all of hell.”

A soft kiss on my cheek and he slides further under the covers, leaving me with burning cheeks and half-formed retorts. 

My arms encircle his waist, his lips find a home at my neck and everything is right in the world. I take a risk and run my fingers over the line of his ear. He makes a soft sound of approval and I keep going, stroking his hair and ears like you might a cat. 

The way he melts against me convinces me all the more that he needs this. I don’t know what he’s dealing with, but I’m glad to help. 

I feel a pang of heartache that I can’t be here for him more often. 

It’s a night here and there, the odd weekend if he’s not too busy. 

I’m sure if we didn’t have to be so secretive, things would be a lot easier on him. 

Y’know, he only talked about his place the one time but I still can’t stop thinking about it. 

  
  
  


_ “Yeah, I bet you live somewhere proper posh, a big grand mansion.” _

_ “It is quite splendid, if a little lacking in...warmth. Coming home to an empty home doesn’t quite feel like coming home at all.” _

  
  
  


I get it though. He’s powerful, his enemies equally so. They’d use any kinda connection against him in a heartbeat. It’s hell after all. We can’t expect to live some idyllic, peaceful life together. But we have this. 

He’s gone heavy in my arms, his arms draped over my hip and his face still smushed against my chest. 

Falling asleep without saying goodnight? He really must be shattered. I smile when it occurs to me he’ll definitely be apologising tomorrow. I don’t particularly see it as bad manners but at this point it’s just cute that he insists on saying it every time. 

For now, I rest my head on his and let my eyes drift shut. I’ll give him hell in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't let the long ass time gap fool you, if you request more I will do my best lmao even if it takes *cough* a while, I'll eventually get round to it <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is a oneshot for now, but I fully intend to write more if I'm ever in that dark situation again so who knows, there could be more to follow :)
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments if you'd like. I did write this based on like... A trailer, some clips, and a few voice acting streams so I understand if it's ooc as fuck, I'll try to rewrite it when the pilot airs in a more accurate tone
> 
> \---
> 
> EDIT: it's official, this is no longer a one-shot, chapter 2 is coming out soon by request <3 THANK U FOR THE OVERWHELMINGLY POSITIVE RESPONSE OMG also I can't wait for ep 2 of hazbin cri
> 
> got questions, suggestions, requests?
> 
> jupiterfeels@gmail.com


End file.
